Don Winslow - A Long Walk Up the Waterslide

Joey looked wildly around.

“Harold, shoot somebody,” he said.

Harold’s eye was sending telegrams.

“Sorry, boss,” he said.

“Leave now, Mr. Foglio,” Candy said. “There has been more than enough dying.”

Foglio straightened himself up and looked her dead in the eye. “You’ll get yours, you bitch.”

Any second now.

The high-banked curves were tough because he kept slipping and getting water in his mouth. Neal found he could dig one foot into the curved side and push while he pulled himself up with his hands. It was taking time, though, and he was running out of time.

Karen tried to stay on the terrace. She really did. But she saw her friends down there, people she loved: Candy Landis, the flawed but somehow lovable-and pregnant-Polly Paget, and Joe Graham.

Dear, dear Joe Graham.

She ran down the stairs and started across the terrace, waving her arms and yelling.

NOW THERE WAS ONE MURDER MAYBE I HAD SOMETHING TO DO WITH, BUT IT WAS REALLY THAT MUTT OVERTIME.

Excuse me, Overtime thought. I think we’ve all heard about enough.

He leaned out of the starting chamber and raised the rifle. He caught some movement from the corner of his eye and shifted the scope.

Oh, this is too good, he thought. There she is, running like a deer across a meadow. And no baseball bat. No dog.

Decisions, decisions.

Problem: So many targets, so little time.

Analysis: If you shoot her first, you’ll spook the money targets.

Consideration: Always shoot for the money. When they start dropping, she’ll freeze and you can drop her where she stands.

Decision: Get to work. Shoot for the money first, then protection, then pleasure.

Just in, just out. Professional.

Of course, there are two money targets.

ONE JERK-OFF, TWO PETTY THEFTS, ONE ASSAULT… I PRAYED FOR CARMINE TO DIE. IS THAT A SIN?

“I ain’t going down alone, Hathaway,” Joey said pointedly.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Hathaway asked.

“It’s all on the tape, Mr. Hathaway,” Chuck said as he pulled his revolver and pointed it at Hathaway’s chest, “but we do thank you for coming today.”

“You set me up,” Hathaway accused Candy.

Graham saw his eyes glance up at the water slide.

I MEAN, CARMINE’S WHACKED MORE GUYS THAN CARTER HAS PILLS…

Neal was winded by the time he hit the last long slope to the top. He had to lie on his stomach and pull himself up, and his hands kept slipping.

And he heard Karen yelling. Then his hands slipped and he slid backward.

“Get down!” Karen yelled.

“What’s she saying?” asked Candy.

“Bye-bye,” Joey Beans answered.

OKAY, ONTO VULGAITIES…

Overtime centered the crosshairs on Foglio’s square forehead. He had worked out his priorities: Make Carmine happy first, then Peter, then take Polly out, then the bitch from Nevada, then maybe the one-armed dwarf who’d set him up, the gray-haired cop…

As they say, Idle hands are the devil’s playground.

He started to apply that gentle persuasion to the trigger.

Or… do Candy first, which will make Joey think he’s safe, then whack the bitch from Nevada, then the one-armed dwarf, then…

Neal grabbed onto the side and caught himself. He threw one foot out and managed to get straight and start pulling up again. Water streamed into his face. He had his mouth clamped shut, but the water was coming into his nose and he started to choke.

He craned his neck and saw Overtime’s back and the rifle come up to his cheek.

The killer was just out of reach.

Neal opened his mouth to scream.

No… do the bitch first before she spooks everyone, then Joey, then Candy, then…

One thing at a time.

He was drawing the lead on Karen when he heard a drowning voice yell, “NOOOO!”

He squeezed the trigger just as the hand grabbed his arm.

Chuck heard the crack of the rifle, knocked Candy down, and lay on top of her.

TWELVE F- WORDS, TWENTY OR THIRTY SHITS…

Karen felt the rush of wind over her head and dived for cover.

Joe Graham crawled toward her.

Polly stood in the middle of the plaza, asking, “What the hell is this?”

TOO MANY GODDAMNS, FOR WHICH I’M SORRY, OKAY?

Hathaway ran.

Harold looked at Joey and said, “Get outta here, Joey.”

“The hell difference it makes?” Joey asked. “If Carmine wants me

…”

“A day at a time, huh?” Harold said. “Go on… before I don’t have an excuse not to whack you.”

Another rifle shot went off.

THAT’S ABOUT IT, FATHER, TAKE IT EASY ON THE ACTS OF CONTRITION, HUH?

“You’re okay, Harold,” Joey said.

“Long life, boss.”

Joey Beans ran for the relative safety of the putt-putt golf course.

The second shot went off as Neal pulled back on Overtime’s arm and tried to haul him out of the starting chamber. Overtime rammed the stock back and hit Neal on the collarbone. Neal kept his grip on Overtime’s arm, braced his feet against the side of the slide, and jerked. He reached his left hand around, grabbed the killer under the chin, and pulled.

Overtime pushed his rifle hand out and probed with the barrel until he felt it touch a body.

Neal felt the barrel against him, rolled back, and pulled the man onto the slide with him as the gun went off. He was lying sideways across the slide now, with his feet braced on the edge and Overtime lying on top of him.

Neal felt as if he was drowning. Jets of water were shooting into his face and he couldn’t get his head up high enough to get a real breath. Add exhaustion, terror, and the thought that a bullet was going to blow his head off any second and it was not a happy situation.

Then why are you holding on? he asked himself.

He was considering this question when Overtime’s elbow crashed into his rib cage and he let go.

He felt the killer slide away from him as he dug his feet back into the side, reached over his head, and gripped the edge.

This isn’t as bad as the Newport Bridge, Overtime thought as he careened down the long straightaway.

Problem: Escape.

Analysis: You’re moving at high speed away from your adversaries. You still have your weapon. You can still make it out of here.

Solution: Go with the flow.

Overtime lay back to increase his speed, slid around the double corkscrew, built up tremendous velocity on the next straightaway, and flew around the first high bank. The problem came when his two hundred pounds hit the next bank a little roughly and one of Joey’s cheap sections gave way and he crashed through it like a rocket and was launched fifty feet into the warm Texas sky.

Witnesses later said that his screams were truly unsettling.

The water in the pool below got pretty hard when he hit it at the speed he was going, so he was probably already pretty banged up when the current sucked his unconscious body into the tube, plummeted him thirty feet, and shot him out like a bullet into the final pool.

There were no flotation devices, lifeguards, or emergency personnel there to meet him. There was no water, either-just the rock-hard pool bottom, a busted canvas bag, and some sand-so the twenty foot high-speed dash headfirst into the concrete is what killed him.

“Was that the man who shot Mr. Withers?” Charles asked Polly a few minutes later as they looked into the dry pool.

Polly looked at Overtime’s shattered remains and said, “Hard to tell.”

Joe Graham held on to Karen as she crawled out and grabbed Neal’s hand, but they couldn’t get enough leverage to pull him out.

“Mmmmmmm,” Watanabe said behind the duct tape.

“What’s he saying?” Graham asked.

“He’s probably telling you to shut it off!” Neal hollered. “In any case, shut it off!!”